break me down
by stxrseekers
Summary: All fourteen themes compiled into a collection of stories for Yullen Week '11. 14: Last Stand. With the Earl gone, there's little else for them to do. But in all honesty, he's fine with spending the rest of his life by Kanda's side.
1. Silence

theme/day: silence/voiceless, day 1.

pairing: established Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: t for language.

warning: none, really; boy love-ish; kind of angsty, kind of fluffy. unbeta'd.

a/n: SO IT BEGINS. Yullen Week '11. Not much to say about this piece except that it's _established_ they have some kind of relationship, that's why Kanda doesn't start off as get-the-fuck-away. Other than that, enjoy, and leave a review on your way out?

standard disclaimer applies.

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><p>silence<p>

* * *

><p>It's one o'clock in the morning, on the dot, when Allen comes into his room with mussed hair and haunted eyes.<p>

He's had another nightmare.

Kanda doesn't react when the boy takes a seat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and a small trembling to his shoulders. It's painful to see but Kanda just scowls, whether at him or the dream that caused this, he's unsure. He sits up, pushing the comforter away from his body and swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he's beside the beansprout. Neither speaks and the silence is nearly overwhelming.

Allen's human arm has angry red nail marks, and there's a bruise forming on his shoulder.

"That bad?"

Allen nods.

"…It wasn't real."

Kanda hides his surprise when Allen grabs his hand, writing an invisible message on his palm.

_I killed everyone. I killed you._

The samurai frowns, running his other hand through dark strands of hair, only to have them fall back into his eyes. He can't count how many times he's been in this position now; it's become a routine for Allen to invade his room, drowning in haunting half-truths and eyes betraying the despair that hides behind half-constructed masks. It's not in his nature to help, so he offers up the only form of comfort he knows: silence.

Allen accepts this, embraces it; having some form of companionship beside him while he sorts out his mind is a safety blanket he can't explain. The assignments are slowly drowning them and it's on the nights they both have to themselves that the dreams plague his already frazzled mental state. Link is sound asleep in Allen's room; no one knows about his ventures past midnight.

And they're both okay with that.

* * *

><p>On the next night it happens, they're staying in a rundown inn with rundown walls and rundown beds.<p>

It's uncomfortably _roomy _as they share the same bedroom, Allen taking the floor just because it doesn't feel right to hog the bed all to himself; Kanda disagrees and takes the floor as well. In the end, they end up beside each other, laying across cold blankets and colder pillows, nestled into a protective cocoon while the snow falls outside the window and Link drifts away in the bed. They say nothing; not when they fall asleep a good distance apart and wake up three hours later in arm's length. Allen shivers, sweat beading on his forehead, and Kanda sighs.

"Again?"

Allen nods, closing his eyes. He sees death and destruction, blood-spattered walls and blood-stained flesh.

"Stop thinking, beansprout."

Opening his eyes, blood is replaced with scowls and torn flesh is replaced with somewhat-hesitant arms.

Allen smiles gently and inches closer so he's snuggled close to Kanda, enough to be comfortable but far enough apart to ease the awkwardness.

He doesn't dream.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, hallucinations brought on by sleep deprivation interrupt his eating.<p>

Sitting in the cafeteria with numerous plates surrounding him, Allen drops his fork in surprise as he suddenly sees Lenalee fall forward in a heap of burnt skin. He jumps up, prepared to call her name, when the scene abruptly disappears and he's left with an empty ache and shaking hands.

"Walker?"

Link puts a hand on his shoulder, his stoic face breaking for just a moment.

"I'm fine," he replies, smiling at the blond before exiting the cafeteria and heading anywhere but there; Link gets up and follows, but Allen just collapses onto his bed and sighs a weary sigh, fading away from the world.

Link takes the opportunity to finish the paperwork he was assigned.

* * *

><p>In the heat of battle, however, the hallucinations turn relatively simple battles into dangerous situations.<p>

"Beansprout! Watch what you're doing, damn it!"

Allen nods, blinking away remnants of creeping shadows, but the split second the imagery took away ends with the virus spreading through his bloodstream rapidly. Hardly daring to panic, Allen places a hand to his chest and wills away the offending serum, purifying it as quickly as possible. His stomach burns from where the wound was dealt but he ignores it as he takes his sword and plunges it through the demon's head.

Later on, the two exorcists and Link pile into the hotel room and bandage themselves up; Allen disappears into the bathroom to clean up the near-infected wound, hissing in pain when it begins to bleed further. When he's satisfied with the result of his makeshift medical care, he steps outside to see Kanda with his arms crossed, looking severely pissed off.

"Pay attention when you're fighting, beansprout," he says, turning away and glancing out the ice-covered window. "Unless you're trying to get yourself fucking _killed_."

Allen doesn't respond.

* * *

><p>When the hallucinations come again, he's walking down one of the many corridors of headquarters.<p>

He collapses to the floor and groans, grabbing his head and trying to stop the steady _poundpoundpound_ of pain resonating through his mind. His body shakes, he feels ill, and his lunch is ready to leave through his esophagus. He can no longer tell the images apart as they blur together, creating something akin to a phantasmagoria; it's disturbingly realistic, occupying his thoughts daily and assaulting his unconsciousness at night. Just as he's about to release the contents of his stomach on the newly cleaned floor, someone pulls back his hair so it doesn't mix with the vomit.

It's messy, disgusting, and he doesn't feel much better once he's done hacking and coughing, but the hands are still there and they carry a sense of reassurance.

He turns around and finds Kanda looking away, silent and silently worried, and Allen manages a small smile through the blurriness of his surroundings. Kanda scoffs, draws back his hands—but Allen doesn't let him, grabbing a rough one in his own and pulling him down so they're side by side in the empty corridor.

"The fuck, beansprout?"

"Stay…" he whispers, eyes closing; Kanda is about to retort angrily but he decides not to when he sees Allen sleeping. The companionable relationship they've formed causes him to stand instead, lifting the light boy into his arms and carrying him back to his own room where a distressed Link is waiting.

"He's getting better at getting away." Link sighs and steps to the side so Kanda can place Allen in the waiting bed.

"Then maybe you should give him a fucking break," Kanda replies. "Tell Leverrier to shove his accusations up his ass."

When Kanda leaves, the room is silent.

Link isn't sure what to say.

* * *

><p>They're resting against the wall in the dojo, one of the rare times where Allen isn't being followed and Kanda isn't in a snit about something or other.<p>

It's quiet and peaceful, light breathing echoing from Allen's mouth as he fingers the dark blue training shirt around his thin frame. It's been three days without a dream, proper sleep or hallucination and he owes it to the meditation Kanda has been "teaching" him. With no assignment to go on, for they are both on temporary leave due to injuries, they find themselves spending the days training. They don't speak much, and Allen can count how many words he's said to the elder in the last couple days, but neither mind and Allen's just grateful for the company.

"Link returns tomorrow," Allen murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. "Today's the last day."

Kanda mutters a _che_ before sighing, turning his head to glare at the white haired boy.

"Your point?"

"Why don't we do something?" Allen asks, tilting his head to the side. "Together."

Kanda doesn't respond so Allen takes that as a yes.

"Like… sleep."

This catches Kanda off-guard.

"…Sleep?"

Allen nods, more enthusiastic than Kanda has seem in weeks. He's smiling, a real, tentative smile, one filled with hope and understanding and everything Kanda can't comprehend and doesn't really care to. It holds a sense of innocence, a sense that Kanda has only seen on Lenalee.

"S'been a while since I've slept properly," he admits quietly, stormy eyes lowering to the floor. "And… it's easier to sleep when there's someone else."

"It's noon," Kanda states, raising an eyebrow. Allen laughs, pushing himself off the floor and leaning over Kanda.

"I know it is," he says, holding out a hand. "But that's what makes it even better."

Kanda ignores the offered limb and stands up on his own, brushing off invisible dirt. Allen shrugs off the semi-rudeness, dropping his arm and a smile still in place, as he nods towards the doors. It's a simple request and Kanda knows why he's doing it; he's tired, needs rest, but can't obtain it.

They end up in Kanda's bed, Allen silent and asleep, his back against the wall.

And Kanda cannot seem to figure out when his simple, isolated life had become so entangled with the boy's beside him.

He finds he doesn't entirely care as he allows Allen's hand to clasp his own.


	2. Starlight

theme/day: starlight (optional), day 2.

pairing: established Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: t for language.

warning: implied character death.

a/n: I wasn't going to post this until tonight, but your lovely feedback has given me incentive to post early. Thank you all for the kind reviews and alerts! I wish I could respond to them all but I'm swamped with homework, so I don't have much time. D: But I appreciate all of you sososo much! This is part one of four, the other three being three other optional themes that you'll just have to wait and see~ But regardless, enjoy, and leave a review on your way out?

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><p>starlight, 14

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><p>This isn't how he pictured himself dying.<p>

When he thinks about death, his thoughts usually focus more around the tranquility of a life-after-death; the world is a horrid place, he knows, and though he's tried to change it there's little he can do except struggle on. But when all the fighting is done and the lights of the show fade away into an empty stage of forgotten props and toys, he can't help the flame of hope that burns in his heart that the life waiting for him when he closes his eyes one last time will be a _good_ one. Not the faraway fantasies in children's storybooks; not an illusion that the mind concocts when desperate for some kind of bright optimism in a dank situation.

But a place of nothingness, where happiness floats around in molecules and little bursts of sunshine erupt on mended flesh. A place without sadness and pain and agony; a place where he can be himself, without the burden of being a soldier.

Where demons don't exist, and exorcists don't exist, because there's no need for exorcists if they have nothing to exorcise.

But when he pictures himself dying, he likes to imagine himself saying farewell to everyone in a haze of painless confusion, before the world swims away and he swims to sanctuary. Sometimes he imagines a hand reaching out to him, and he thinks maybe he can hold on to the thread of reality for _just a bit longer_. But instead the hand pushes him away, thrusting him into the darkness of the unknown, where only light can possibly await.

He doesn't question it.

But now, lying beneath a moonless sky and clouds hanging overhead, he can only think that _this_ was not how he pictured himself dying.

The white snow, always so cold, has numbed his body; it's stained scarlet with spilling blood, trailing from a wound he can't even see. And above him, looking angry and scared and tense all at once is Kanda, hands and coat attempting to clot the flow of blood that has ceased to fall.

"Don't you die on me," he growls, wiping away some drops from the boy's forehead. "Don't you _dare_ fucking die on me!"

Allen smiles.

Well, it turns out to be more of a grimace than grin, but Kanda understands the gist of it anyways; how sad, Allen thinks, that his most real smile graces his lips when he knows he's about to die. The samurai, always so poised and stubborn and rude, has eyes that betray the anxious emotions flitting through his mind, and Allen doesn't like that look because it reminds him what they've built over the last year.

But still, even as he lays on the cold, cold ground staring at the sad, sad eyes of the man looking down at him, he can't deny the sense of comfort that slowly settles over his body at the realization that his battle is over; he has walked his path and now he's at the end of the road, with broken signs and misleading directions, bringing him to the final journey of his warped life.

"S'okay…" he whispers, eyes at half-crescent. He coughs once, blood choking out of his throat to pool at the corner of his lips. "S'okay, right?"

* * *

><p>"<em>You're like the night sky, you know that Kanda?"<em>

"_How the hell did you get that?"_

"_Because you're dark but you're protective, too. The night is always dark and it's always protecting the stars, giving them a place to stay forever. It's like a blanket."_

"_Are you calling me a blanket?"_

"_No, you missed the entire point."_

"…_Well if I'm the night, then you're a star."_

"_That's the corniest thing you've ever said, isn't it?"_

"_Shut up, beansprout."_

* * *

><p>Allen's eyes open a bit more, attempting to focus on the beating of his heart rather than the pouring of his blood; he's becoming lightheaded, the world a flurry of white and black and blue. His breathing is labored and this isn't the death he's imagined.<p>

"We… all die eventually," he chokes out, wincing when it causes a shock of pain throughout his head. "S'only a matter of time…"

Kanda's silent, kneeling beside him and glaring and nervous; he wants to yell and scream and curse the cursed boy for introducing him to any kind of feeling at all.

"Stars aren't supposed to die," the samurai mutters, his hands loosening on the pressure he's been applying to the boy's chest.

"Maybe…" His eyes are nearly closed now, his soul disappearing from the very earth he used to walk on. "I'll be reborn…"

The last thing he sees is Kanda's tiny, tiny smile and the starlight that spills over his onyx hair.


	3. Shadow

theme/day: shadow, day 3.

pairing: kind of, sort of implied Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: t for language.

warning: character death; language; not really fluffy at all.

a/n: I had a lot of trouble with this theme, surprisingly. I'm still not happy with how it turned out but alas, it'll have to do. I'm considering turning this into an authentic AU-verse with more backstory on everything. If you're interested, let me know! Anyways, thanks again to everyone who's responded to this. It's wonderful to know that you're all enjoying these~ Leave a review on your way out?

(I swear, I'll get a fluffy one up here eventually…)

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><p>shadow<p>

* * *

><p><em>The war between the Order and the Noah is still going on?<em>

_He died a bit that day too, you know?_

_Yeah, such a shame. Hasn't been the same since._

_He's Neah now, isn't he? Allen rarely breaks through._

_That's right. They were so close. Met each other two years ago, summer wasn't it?_

_They were inseparable. No one else could handle Kanda's mood swings!_

_It's too bad Kanda got him involved. It was an accident but… I wonder how things would be different if they had never found out Allen was _him?

_Too late now. They're both gone._

* * *

><p>They try to tell him he's crazy.<p>

They want to help him, they say. It's not natural. Normal. There are places that can "cure" him, save him from himself and the damage he's doing; but he thinks they're all laughable, fools, pathetic. They don't understand at all and it makes him chuckle with glorious satisfaction. They can yell and cry and shout and tell him all they want, whisper words of comfort and words of _lies_. They are not his friends, they will never be his friends, and he's quite alright with that.

Neah smiles to himself as he walks down the alley.

"You look like a fool, 'sprout," his companion says, eying him and scoffing. Neah chuckles softly, securing his arm within Kanda's and tightening his leather coat around his thin frame. "You still calling him that?"

"What's it to you?"

Neah laughs and Kanda rolls his eyes, not bothering to remove his arm from the white-haired teen's. It's a moonless night, the alley dark and bleak and downright _creepy_—but Neah insisted.

"He likes it, you know."

"I don't give a shit if he likes it or not."

"So _vulgar_."

Kanda sighs irritably; it's been three days, _three days_, and nothing has changed. It's slowly driving him mad but there's little he can do except accept it, however difficult it may be. Clicking his tongue, Neah pauses in his steps and stops Kanda along with him, converse scraping on the ground from the sudden halt. The Japanese teen, a tad bit surprised and much more annoyed, turns around and glares at the boy—teen—whatever.

"Let's play," Neah whispers, eyes downcast and a deviously delicious smile tugging at his lips. "He's near, isn't he?"

"How am I supposed to know? Idiot."

Neah frowns a bit, free hand rubbing his chin in contemplation.

"If your information is correct, then he should be here, right?"

"Again, it was a _rumor_. There's no fucking way to tell if he's back or not. Besides, there are _others_ we have to take out first. You're fucking up the sprout because of the shit you pull."

They've been through this before.

"Look, I don't care what your little gang does, alright? The Order means nothing to me. But _he_ does. We have the same target. Why not kill two birds with one stone?"

Kanda is silent, eyes narrowing into slits and rage bubbling beneath the surface; it would not be the first time he has snapped and right-hooked the man in a child's body, but Kanda has a feeling that if he snaps again, Neah will have more than just a concussion to deal with.

And it wouldn't be fair to Allen.

"Fine," he growls, tightening the scarf around his neck and striding ahead; the alley reeks of garbage and day old tobacco, such a fitting place for a sleazebag like the man they're targeting. Neah smirks to himself, devilishly proud, following behind the stubborn teen to wherever the rumor has lead them. It's silent, shadows creeping up the walls and giving the illusion to dancing dolls, stalker-like in nature and deadly in disguise. The thrill it gives Neah is comparable to a good assassination, drowning his veins in adrenaline.

"You know," Kanda starts, hands buried in the pockets of his dark blue coat. "Technically you're invading in _his_ body, you should treat it with more respect."

"I'm not the one who punches it."

Kanda shakes his head, not bothering to argue the point with a man who just doesn't care.

"And for the record," Neah interjects, crossing his arms as they reach the end of the dirty pathway. "Allen knows exactly what I do, when I do it, and why. He doesn't hate me. And I don't hate him."

"That's good for you," Kanda mutters, immediately hushing when footsteps echo from the next road over. The city is alight with building propaganda in this part of town; Kanda finds it far too modernized for his taste.

"So the rumors were true…" Neah whispers, eyes widening. Kanda nods mutely. "But that doesn't look like the Adam—"

He's cut off by a hand covering his mouth. Startled, Neah kicks backwards only to meet thin air; he yells something unintelligible to gain his companion's attention. Kanda, about to tell Neah to be quiet, turns around to see the latter being dragged away. Growling, he unsheathes the dagger from inside his jacket pocket, regretting his choice in weapon when the attacker picks up his pace and disappears into the darkness. The shadows are obscuring _everything_ and Kanda knows he only has one chance—

The world dies out in a hazy blur of blackness.

* * *

><p>Allen is accustomed to switching out in the last moment, but when Neah is not <em>focusing<em>, it causes mass amounts of problems for the true owner of the body they share.

He knows the attacker is Tyki; he caught a glimpse of the Noah's face a split second before Neah was forcibly dragged away. With the knowledge of who he's up against, he knows what he needs to do, but he can do nothing in his current position. There's only one way and it could end in death for both of them—

And the Order can't afford to lose another member.

_Neah, concentrate! _

No response.

_Damn it, why can't you just…_

_Just do it,_ Neah replies tiredly. Their body has at least two broken bones, right arm and left ankle; blood-spattered wounds with mismatched slashes and Neah can barely stay awake. _Even if we switched, you still wouldn't be able to do anything. Just do it. You can._

_But—_

_Go for it, kid. One of us needs to get to Kanda, unless you want him to die._

Allen mentally sighs, cursing the Noah for all he's worth.

_And if I fail?_

_Then we _all_ die._

* * *

><p>Kanda's a man of instinct.<p>

Allen's a man of thought.

Each and every member balances the other out. When the partners battle together, victory is usually an easy goal to obtain.

And that's why Kanda's partner is Allen.

When Neah takes over, it's easiest for Kanda to deal with the sudden change in attitude and the overall effect of having a psychopathic, revenge-based fool as back-up. When they switch again, Kanda can pick up the pieces Neah left behind with no trouble at all.

But without a suitable partner, Kanda finds himself trapped against the wall with a bleeding head and multiple knife wounds. Pain doesn't bother him but the lack of blood causes his consciousness to dip in and out and he _hates_ Neah for putting them in this situation; Kanda can do nothing about it and Neah's either already dead or close to it. And he knows, he _knows_, that Allen can't switch in unless Neah is able to pay attention which is hard enough for him on a _good_ day.

And so, Kanda figures, they are completely _screwed._

"You expect someone to save you?"

Tired and angry, Kanda glances up and glares at the Noah who's standing by the door, face hidden by the darkness of the room. He can barely make out the faint outline of wavy hair and the typical white clothes that label each Noah as a member of the clan.

And he knows it's Tyki.

"Quiet, are we? Ah, come on, have some _fun_. We finally have him in our hands. You're all doomed anyways, right? So just accept it."

It happens in a flash.

There's a sickening _crunch_ of a bone breaking when Tyki stabs the knife directly through his right shoulder blade. He can feel the blood pooling, the pain that encompasses his mind, the stamina to fight slowly draining out of his beaten body along with the scarlet liquid.

"Say goodnight."

The weapon is through his chest in a flash and Kanda can't think anymore.

* * *

><p>He's too late.<p>

He can feel it through every fiber of his transient body as he inches along the wall, the shadows merging as one to create his not-so-real form. Neah's consciousness is completely cut off and his is barely hanging on by a thread; he has one chance, _one chance_ to do it, but he can already sense his power waning.

But he trudges on anyways, painting the floor with tendrils of darkness.

Eventually he comes across his target room; it's dark inside, sick, twisted laughter echoing throughout, and there's something wet gleaming only feet away. It's fresh and the puddle is steadily growing large, a _plip_ sound with every millimeter it moves.

It's blood.

_Kanda's_ blood.

Blinded by fury and desperation, Allen surges forward, his shadow-form licking at the air and in a split second, the Noah is suffocating from no oxygen and Allen can't help but wish he had his _own_ body, where he could use his _own_ weapon. When Tyki finally falls, a heap of near-death on the floor, Allen shatters his consciousness to settle back in his own body three rooms over. Once he regains consciousness, however, a blinding pain electrifying his nerves alerts him to the failed attempt at the split-connection. He ignores it, groaning through the pain to kneel on the floor—he has to make it to Kanda, he _has_ to, otherwise it'll have all been for nothing.

It takes him ten minutes to reach the man.

And when he arrives, Kanda is barely breathing and Allen is crawling over to the broken form.

"Kanda, wake up, c'mon, we need to get you to a doctor—"

"'Sprout," he whispers, opening his eyes a fraction to see the distressed boy above him. "I…m'already dead, 'sprout."

"No you're _not_ otherwise you wouldn't be _talking_."

Kanda chuckles, a broken, pained chuckle that doesn't sound right.

"It's _you_…that can't die."

And Allen hates his destiny, his life, the meager excuse for a living soldier.

Leaning down, Allen drapes himself over the bleeding chest, wishing all the while that he could go back two summers ago when he first met Kanda; when the sun still shone even on the most rainiest of days, when the Order didn't exist and there weren't assissinations around every single corner and he wasn't split into two separate people—

"When you find him…kill him, and leave the Order. Don't go back," Kanda chokes out, wincing at the amount of energy it drains from his body. "Promise me."

"I—"

"_Promise_, Allen."

And the use of his first name, his _real_ name, sets him over the edge and he cries out to the God he doesn't believe in to take him instead, to leave Kanda to live and find that _person_ and to be all what he wanted to be when Allen was fourteen and Kanda was sixteen and they weren't tainted.

"I promise."

Kanda's breath hitches once and then dies out completely.

Allen screams.


	4. Disguise

theme/day: disguise (optional), day 4.

pairing: bizarre Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: heavy t+.

warnings: implied sex, implications of sex, language.

a/n: Short chapter is short. This is more drabble-ish than anything but I _kind of_ like how it turned out. Could have turned out better. But… Oh well. Anyways, here's number four, so enjoy and leave a review on your way out!

* * *

><p>disguise<p>

* * *

><p>It was a strange dance, what they had gotten themselves into.<p>

Spinning out of control, slipping on the tiles and falling against cracked walls; built-up dams overflowed by too much water, massacred feelings rupturing. Spidery veins, so tangled in a weaved web of interlaced fingers and locked lips. Touching but never seeing. A kaleidoscope of broken colors and distorted pictures, all tied together in an intricate knot of hope and pain and understanding; bruised flesh against scarred skin.

This was how Allen described his relationship—or what constituted as one, anyways.

He was a cocoon of confusion when he was with Kanda, desperately trying to release the barriers that barricaded him but knowing all attempts were futile. Being with Kanda was like sleeping underneath a blanket of stars on a hot summer night, the adrenaline of battle draining slowly from his limbs and the apprehension for another attack cloying itself around his thoughts. He could never get enough, not when their hands were tangled in day-washed sheets, not when the rain beat against the window in a steady rhythm with their bodies, sweat-slicked and craving for more with fired nerves.

It was a strange dance, what they had gotten themselves into.

But sometimes they lost their footing.

* * *

><p>They weren't together often.<p>

They'd avoid each other in the corridors and go on separate missions; they'd meet in the infirmary, day-old wounds healed and puckered, tired bodies with Innocence straining overworked muscles, and they wouldn't speak. Allen smiled, and he smiled often, and the smile was always forced. A bitter aftertaste lingering on his buds when he realized he was fooling everyone; a sick feeling when he realized he was _fooling everyone._

But when they were with each other by choice or by demand, they'd find themselves locked in a not-so-real embrace, trapped in a sticky snare of sins and guilt and pleasure and_ god, Kanda, what—_

Allen died a bit each time.

* * *

><p>It was pitiful, Kanda thought, how little the beansprout had to try to put on a façade.<p>

It was like an extension of himself—always in place, never once fracturing, little fissures in the porcelain perfectly smoothed over like a freshly painted doll. Perhaps he was a boy on strings, edging closer to an invisible stage each day, guided by a transient puppeteer with no clear motives on a set with no clear lines. The boy was a mystery, a puzzle, a game with no ending and no beginning.

So _innocent._

But Kanda had seen past the masquerade, and Allen wasn't innocent at all.

* * *

><p>He liked pain.<p>

Or some variation of it, Kanda learned. Swaying to the pulse of their bodies, Allen would sometimes maneuver himself so the angle was just a _little_ bit too uncomfortable or the inside of his flesh would tear just the _tiniest_ bit. The elder exorcist had risen an inquisitive eyebrow at this but the boy beneath him just _smirked_, like it was the greatest secret in the world and it had been Kanda to uncover it.

And it was then, Kanda realized, that he had managed to slither past one of Allen's defenses.

The next day, Allen wasn't sure why Lavi's "joke" was funny.

* * *

><p>Allen was <em>dangerous.<em>

He'd focus a bit less in battle, taking unnecessary battle damage at inappropriate times. The seventh time this happened, Kanda had to step in to stop a fatal blow to the kid's head because he was too _stupid_ and _distracted _to watch what the _fuck_ he was doing. Allen had blinked, laughed, rubbed the back of his neck—eyes twinkling with mischievous amusement, a sense of accomplishment twirling in the gray depths that reminded Kanda of foggy skies.

_Oh._

"You ever try to get me killed again and I swear to fucking God—"

They ended up in the same hotel bed that night.

* * *

><p>The kid was <em>crazy<em>.

At least, he was to Kanda; the latter still hadn't unraveled all the threads that held Allen's persona together, but he had unraveled enough to garner some kind of understanding of how the boy's brain worked. A disfigured blend of wires behind the clouded eyes, Kanda figured; slowly turning into molten gold, traces of sunshine peaking through the stormy weather each day that went by. It unnerved the exorcist because he could comprehend the amount of weight that one change carried.

Disturbing how Allen was falling fast, leaving Kanda to pick up the pieces.

Because Allen's disguise was only a trick of the eye.

"Disguise? What's that?"

"Says the clown."

And if breaking through meant going a bit crazy too, Kanda didn't care.


	5. Fingertips

theme/day: fingertips, day 5.

pairing: established Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda

rating: t.

warning: death, angst, FLUUUUFFFF for once.

a/n: As stated up above: THERE IS FLUFF. Kind of. Actual romance with…fluffiness. It's still angst-y though so beware! Anyways, sorry this is delayed, got _swamped_ with end-of-the-year assignments and tests and 21 page papers. But regardless, days 6, 7, _and_ 8 will all be posted soon. Tomorrow's because I may not get a chance to post since it's…well…Christmas. xD A note on this story: I love it. I really do. I don't like so much how I wrote it but this is actually a mini-plot compared to the actual plot I have planned. So please, let me know what you think~

And happy early Christmas or whatever it is you celebrate! I hope your holidays are wonderful and please be safe!

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><p>fingertips<p>

* * *

><p>"I'd like to go back to my own room."<p>

The infirmary is too haunting, too constricting for a peaceful sleep or hope for any kind of comfort. It's suffocating, walls are closing in on him and he needs to get away from the antiseptic stench, tinted with citrus that burns his nostrils; he needs the safety of sheets he's memorized, bills he's posted, clothes he's put away.

"At least wait until your shoulder heals."

She touches the bandage pasted on the mentioned area, checking for tightness and proper application. He cannot see her but he can feel the nurse's probing fingers, sending waves of pain throughout his body.

"Do your eyes still hurt?"

He nods, not trusting his voice; if not for the familiarity of the nurse's tone, he'd be worried, but he's grateful his ears have not been damaged in the most recent battle. But still—he just wants rest and he knows he will not garner anything from the too-clean room.

"If anything goes wrong Link will be there."

Link, who's still waiting outside the door, waiting for the news on his charge; his charge, who's sitting up in the bed, shoulder and human hand heavily enclosed with white-turned-crimson cloths, eyes covered with soft material.

"At least stay in here for the night. I'll talk to the head nurse on whether you can be released or not."

It's better than nothing so he nods, leaning back against the not-comfortable pillows, invisible tears pooling in his injured eyes, a sense of helplessness pulsing through his veins because he cannot _see_, he cannot _remember_ what happened and all of his memories are blurred images caught in a web of confusion, demon blood and poison dancing on the tip of his tongue—

The sound of the door opening and closing alerts him to his solitary presence.

"You really did it this time, sprout."

He stirs at the deep voice, monotone with a hint of perfectly concealed worry. He can hear graceful footsteps before the mattress dips to the right and digits weave their way through white strands of hair.

"I didn't mean to," he whispers, a hand reaching out to grasp the one gliding over his head. "I…I don't remember."

Kanda doesn't say anything in response; rather, he grips the hand within his own, an anchor for the other boy's slipping reality.

"They said three months."

"Three?"

"Until your eyes are healed."

The boy smiles a thin smile that wanes after a few seconds. Kanda scoffs, frowning at the only patient in the infirmary.

"But I know," the boy begins, Innocence hand fisting in the blanket. "If the poison…if it doesn't dissipate, I'll die."

"Two weeks."

The truth is a stab through his stomach, a dark perspective brimming to the forefront of his mind that he may _die_. Kanda can see the flicker of emotions in the way the body beside him twitches; the boy's right hand clenches tighter through the bandages, his frown deepens, a crease appears in his forehead. Sighing, the elder exorcist thumbs away the wrinkles, sending shocks of relief through the boy's body.

"Sprouts don't die because of a bit of poison," Kanda mutters, tilting his head to the side in thought. "They die because of swords through their annoying heads."

The boy chuckles once before relaxing just the tiniest bit. Moments pass in silence as Kanda continues his ministrations, lost in a world of contemplation he doesn't quite understand.

Eventually, Allen falls asleep.

* * *

><p>Three days later Allen is returned to his designated room.<p>

He's lead by Link, legs faltering after little use and a sprained ankle, and it takes them nearly forty minutes before they reach the corridor where his room is situated; the feeling of helplessness increases tenfold but Link doesn't say anything, instead helping the boy onto the burgundy cotton sheets. Before Link can help him get ready for sleep, there's a knock on the door and Allen can hear Leverrier's voice before the door is opened.

"Inspector Link, we have been called back to Central temporarily."

Hearing the gruff tone but not being able to observe the man who uses it causes Allen to shiver involuntarily, unseeing eyes focused downward.

"I have brought along another exorcist to help with his ah…debilitations."

This causes Allen's blood to run cold.

_Why is Leverrier choosing who helps me?_

He does not hear the last part of the conversation and is only snapped out of his thoughts when the door closes with more force than necessary.

"Beansprout can't do anything on his own, can he? Fucking useless."

Allen breathes a sigh of relief.

"They sent you?"

Hands unbutton the shirt he's wearing, gently moving the injured shoulder as little as possible; Allen can recall the times when they've done this with less care and more need, clothes being discarded to reveal scarred flesh and black bruises. Illusion fades to reality as fingers brush his skin, the shirt is pulled away, and cold air caresses his chest and spills over his torso.

"Che, make _me_ do the dirty work."

"They think it's a punishment for both of us."

"Hn," Kanda murmurs, grabbing a nightshirt as Allen begins a coughing fit. The secrecy of what they've created is just that—secret. They harbor within the darkness, a clandestine sin that fuses adrenaline within their bodies each time they're together.

When the younger exorcist is settled within the bed and the covers pulled up to his waist, Kanda takes a seat, his fingers roaming over the planes of the boy's chest. Allen's breath whispers in contentment, a comfort he hasn't felt in three days ghosting over his abused frame.

"Che."

* * *

><p>Five more days pass before Kanda arrives back from a mission in Germany.<p>

Allen's skin is a sickly pale, maps of spider veins erupting beneath his skin and weakening his body. He can no longer walk properly, his legs too fragile to support him; his human arm has become thinner and the Innocence is not being sustained.

Allen cannot eat and it's slowly deteriorating his body.

"The wound hasn't healed," Komui mutters, examining the cursed eye of the sleeping boy on the bed. He's been moved back to the infirmary with little argument from anyone. The infected eye is black, all around the socket is a dark blue and violet, spreading out; the bandage alone is barely enough to cover the physical proof of his slow death. "Unless we can get the poison out somehow…"

"He's the only one who can," the nurse says quietly, replacing the IV in Allen's arm. "But he has no strength left to purify himself again."

They leave and it's nightfall when Kanda enters the room, Mugen sheathed and eyes tired. His fingertips carefully maneuver through limp hair.

"Beansprouts don't die from poison."

Allen doesn't hear him.

* * *

><p>Two days and Allen asks for him.<p>

"Kanda," he whispers, voice no longer the cheery, naïve tone it once was. "I'd like to go outside…"

So when the nurse is asleep and Allen is awake, Kanda sneaks in and picks the too-light boy up and cradles him, carrying him out to the training ground and settling beneath a tree; it's warm, the moonless night is a vast space filled with stars and emptiness. Allen pulls himself closer to the body holding him, hands fisted within the soft material of the man's shirt; Kanda's silent, the meditational digits roaming through hair once again,

"This is nice," Allen whispers, hands loosening and reaching up to grasp Kanda's face; he cannot see, but he can feel, and he lets his fingers spread out over gentle cheeks before leaning in and placing a kiss to gentle lips.

He's tried to purify himself, has tried to rid himself of the poison in his curse, but the attempts have been futile and he knows he must accept his fate. He still cannot recall the night of the accident but he's given up on worrying, focusing more on what _is_ rather than what _was_. It unnerves him and all he can see is darkness, never-ending blackness that swathes his vision in unseeing injustice.

"Stop thinking," Kanda mutters when they break apart, the pads of his thumb circling the crease in the boy's forehead. "It does you no good."

"Says you…of all people."

"Che."

It's a couple hours before they head back inside.

* * *

><p>The next day, Allen opens his eyes.<p>

His left is still poisoned, still tainted and unable to see his surroundings; his right eye can barely make out shapes but it's clearing up.

His body, however, is failing him. Transparent skin, ugly veins and vessels raw amongst his papery flesh, heartbeat slow and worsening each hour. Allen knows he will not make it to the night; Lenalee, Lavi, Krory, Miranda—they've all been to see him, sorrowful and blinded by their own denial of the inevitable. When the sun sets on the eleventh day, there's one last visitor to see him.

He can scarcely make out the visage of the person but once he does, he smiles.

"BaKanda," he says, hand reaching out to weakly—_sososoweak_—clutch the rough one of his companion. Kanda frowns, careful to not apply to much pressure to the fragile limb. "Looks like…poison does kill sprouts."

Kanda doesn't say anything, scowling at the boy on the bed before taking a seat. He does not like the pressure in his chest or the clammy sweat that begins to bead on his skin—it's too unfamiliar, too much of what he buried so long ago.

"M'glad you came," Allen murmurs, one eye closed and the other narrowing. "Last face…I'll ever see."

He laughs brokenly, feebly.

"You're giving up already? Baka sprout, since when do you ever give up?"

"M'not…giving up…"

"Looks like it," he growls, hand tightening. "If you weren't, you wouldn't be on this bed _dying_ right…right before…"

He cannot say it, cannot choke it out of his throat. Allen grins, hand slowly making its way to his forehead—and massaging away the frown lines. Kanda's eyes widen imperceptibly, momentarily taken off guard, before his lips loosen and he sighs.

"S'nice," Allen whispers, eye closing. "All those times…your fingers…"

"Beansprout…"

"Mmm?" His eye cracks open, clearly seeing the man sitting on the bed, the first real image he's seen since before the incident. "M'gunnah sleep now…'k?"

Kanda nods, knuckles dusting over the boy's scar. Allen smiles, attempting to pull him down but too frail to do so; Kanda smirks, leaning down and placing a kiss to the cracked lips.

"Night, Kanda…"

"Night, sprout."

His fingers are feather-light as they roam over the sleeping face, long into the night.

* * *

><p>The twelfth day, Allen's memories come back but he does not wake.<p>

Lovely fingertips ghosting over wispy skin is the last thing he feels before the darkness reigns him in.


	6. Requiem

theme/day: requiem (optional), day 6.

pairing: Kanda/Allen, mentions of Allen/Kanda.

rating: t for language.

warnings: it's a funeral, so post-character death.

a/n: Well here's the sequel to _Starlight_ (chapter 2). I was going to update all of these yesterday but it's hard to write something happy with the themes this year and it was _Christmas_ so... No angst on Christmas, at least! But I shall be all caught up by the end of today. For now, here's part 2 of 4, and thanks to all who reviewed! Your kind words inspire me to write more!

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><p>requiem, 24

* * *

><p>The funeral is nine days after his death.<p>

Kanda nearly laughs at the length between the "incident" and the "investigation", but he bites the urge back and settles with the gnawing anger at Central and its unorthodox method of autopsying a body. He has yet to see Allen's deceased form nor does he have any inclination to seek it out; rather, he's content with remaining in the small chapel, legs crossed and eyes shadowed by too-long bangs. There's a sick piano melody ghosting over the occupants of the gathering and Kanda _hates_ it—it sounds too much like the song that had brought them back from the void on the Ark, too reminiscent of the slender, pale and black fingers dancing over ivory keys.

It reminds him far too well of what he had lost and what he no longer stands to lose.

_We're gathered here today_, Komui begins, eyes searching the crowd of exorcists and a few finders. _To say farewell to one of the greatest exorcists the Black Order has ever had._

How many are here because they must mourn the death of their savior? How many, sitting in the mahogany pews dressed in black, are here because the boy's hope has finally dispersed?

_The entire community of the warriors of God feels the loss of someone so young and strong…_

Kanda bites the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing into a defiant stare.

…_of someone who provided so much hope and happiness to the bleak place we call home…_

He can no longer tell if it's Komui speaking or the manifestation of desperation and despair he locked into his soul.

The rest of the eulogy disappears over Kanda's head, his thoughts too scattered to formulate enough of an attention span to actually listen. It's when the crowd begins to exit through the half-built doors that the samurai falters, eyes searching an escape that will lead him to darkness clad in isolation, a place he used to reside in because he detested the abundance of people that called the association run by insane "do-gooders" with a God-complex _home_.

* * *

><p>"<em>But this is our home, isn't it?"<em>

"_You know nothing."_

"_Think about it. We have nowhere else to go. We'd be on the streets trying to make a living, right? I mean, some people have somewhere to return to…but that can all disappear unless we do our job as an exorcist!"_

"_How do you know anything about living on the streets, huh sprout? How can you compare that and here if you've never—"_

"_I used to _be_ one of them, Kanda! Don't you see? Sometimes it's better to just accept the life you've been given—not just live day by day because you have to, but because you _want_ too."_

* * *

><p>"Kanda? It's time to go."<p>

Lenalee's tear-stained face and Lavi's unemotional one cause Kanda to growl and push up from his stiff position against the pew, anger racing through his veins at the injustice presented to him in this one place. He walks up the aisle, surrounded by stained-glass windows full of bright colors and cloudy sunshine; the door opens and closes and he is alone with the representation of every thought and feeling he has ever fallen victim to; he knows, in some dusty corner of his mind, that Allen has planned all this, little by little in whatever life he's acquired in his after-death.

"You're an idiot," Kanda starts, not daring to touch the closed casket. It still feels impersonal, wrong. "Che, you know how many people you've let die because of this, sprout? The light of this damn place, finally extinguished. Guess your Innocence couldn't protect you a second time.

"You'll always be an idiot, even in death. I'm sure the idiots at the Vatican tried to bring you back to life. Why not? They think they're God's descendents or some shit like that."

He doesn't know how to say goodbye. There's no burning behind his eyes, no tightening of his chest; just an empty, desolate hole inside of his body, dark and destroyed.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ah, stop being so pouty. The assignment isn't that bad."<em>

"_Shut up."_

"_Why are you grumpy today? In one of your moods?"_

"_I'm in the same mood everyday you idiot!"_

"_Nope. Sometimes you smile at least once, even if it's small. I think that's what I like most about you."_

"_Stop being…so mushy, sprout."_

"_Fine, fine. But seriously, let's just finish this and go home, okay?"_

"_Che, whatever."_

* * *

><p>"You did the one thing none of us could do," he mutters instead, crossing his arms and glancing up to the endless roof above him. He can see flowers, can feel summer wind, too warm and <em>happy<em> so he ignores all of it.

He smirks, a devilish smirk that's void of any sort of amusement. It soon breaks out into a laugh—pent up anger, frustration, hate, rage—and he shakes his head.

There are no tears.

"You escaped."


	7. Reflection

theme/day: mirror/reflection, day 7.

pairing: implied Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: uh... t? maybe k+.

warnings: none; just... strangeness.

a/n: Well this is late. And it's short. But I'll have the rest up today. This one was by far the hardest for me to write which is surprising, considering I use this theme throughout the majority of my DGM fics. Regardless, this was experimental and while I don't particularly love it, I kind of like the idea for it. So enjoy!

Leave a review on your way out? I love hearing feedback!

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><p>reflection<p>

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><p>There's a wall; it's transparent and when he goes to touch it, it shimmers and gleams, almost as if it's made out of water.<p>

He takes a seat on the cold floor, surrounded by aqua colored crystals and dark stained rocks. It's an odd world and he wonders briefly if he's dreaming but he shrugs it off, folding his legs and placing his hands on his knees.

He stares at the wall.

It looks as if the wall stares back.

Eventually, transparency fades to a solid image; he expects to see his reflection but is startled when a familiar face appears instead, sharp features and an impasse face.

"Kanda?"

His voice is but a whisper, a hand reaching out to truly see if it's who he thinks it is. The reflection is parted into waves when he finally makes contact, slowly reforming into Kanda once again when he retracts his hand. Kanda frowns, eyebrow raising in a questioning and challenging manner, as if daring the boy on the floor to try again. He doesn't; he wants the blurred reflection to stay, to keep him company until he wakes up from whatever world he's landed into this time.

So he continues to sit and stare, the reflection mimicking his actions except with Kanda's frame instead of his own.

"Why are you here?"

Kanda's mouth moves in time with his but offers no answer.

"Are you me?"

He shrugs and the reflection does as well, an out-of-place mockery that has the boy's head spinning. Rather than ask a question he knows will not be answered, he shifts his position so his legs are outstretched, one ankle crossed over the other and hands behind him. It's not exactly comfortable but it's better than his back becoming stiff after sitting the same way for a long period of time. Kanda does not copy this and the boy smiles, eager to see if maybe the reflection is finally thinking on its own.

"Are you trapped?"

But Kanda's lips once again move with his own, not responding with an answer.

"Fine," the boy says, leaning forward and extending his hand. His fingertips brush over the surface and the reflection does the same, their fingers meeting through the glass. It's an odd feeling, but it's physical, and the boy's smile grows a bit as he tilts his head.

"So you're real," he says, this time without Kanda's mouth in sync with his own. "Can you answer yet?"

_Beansprout._

His brows furrow, the voice sounding ethereal in the mystical cave-like room.

_Beansprout!_

Perhaps he _is_ indefinitely locked in the confines of his own mind. He slowly brings his hand back to his side, unsure of how to proceed when the voice echoes once more.

_Allen, wake up, damn it!_

The scene abruptly changes so he's face to face with an angry looking, very _real_ Kanda leaning over him. The crystallized walls fade to the standardized black, the cold floor is replaced with a comforter that could only belong on one person's bed; he's in Kanda's room, beneath said man, with shaking hands and an ill feeling swirling within his body.

"You kept touching my face."

"S…Sorry?" Allen shudders as a chill runs down his spine. "I…was dreaming, I guess."

"I gathered as much."

Kanda leans back down on his own side of the bed, eyes glancing over Allen as if to make sure he's in one piece.

"I'm okay," the boy whispers, arm resting against his now-closed eyes. He's tired, his mind unable to keep up with the loose threads between his dream and the reality he's in now. "I'm okay…"

Kanda's hand entwines with his own and Allen nearly smiles as Kanda growls under his breath.

"Just go to sleep, idiot beansprout."

Allen nods, attempting to shake off the shackles of the dream—which held more reality than he would have liked.

Because sometimes, when he glances in the mirror, he can see traces of Kanda within himself.


	8. Waterfall

theme/day: waterfall (optional), day 8.

pairing: past Kanda/Allen, implied Allen/Kanda.

rating: t, probably k+ though.

warnings: implied character death from _Starlight_.

a/n: Well here's the third entry for the four-part optional theme collection! I love this one; I love the scenery and I tried to create a sense of serenity while writing this. Regardless, enjoy!

Leave a review! They make me smile and know that you're still enjoying the entries. :)

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><p>waterfall, 34

* * *

><p>The grass tickles his feet—<p>

Oh. He can feel.

Such a startling realization as he walks through the meadow, pollen and flowers and long strands of bright green grass ghosting over his skin. The sun is intense and dazzling yet he can look at the star without blinking, without seeing the spots of gold on top of black when he closes his eyes. Such a beautiful place with such warm air, his breaths whispering in little pearl puffs; when he looks down, he sees that he's wearing black knee shorts that feel foreign against his skin and a white dress shirt as soft as silk, so casual and formal at the same time. He reaches up a hand to the endless sky, feeling at peace, as if the world has finally fallen into place and there's no evil, no shrouding darkness and suffocating black oceans that drag him to unsure shores.

It's _wonderful_.

But he knows, in some part of his mind, that this is not the world and that he no longer has a beating heart. He has succumbed to death, images of dark eyes and intricate little stars fading through his memory like his vision during a blizzard; spots of glistening white obscuring the memories, fuzzy and unreadable and leaving him with a most empty heart.

Oh, but he technically doesn't _have_ a heart anymore.

_Where am I?_

The fantasy-world doesn't change nor does it dissipate as he had first anticipated; rather, it seems to sway in a rhythmic tempo, a never-ending breeze that cascades through the make-believe land.

"So is this heaven?"

He hasn't always believe in God.

"Or is this just…this?"

He's not sure if he still does.

He takes a few steps forward, leaving invisible footprints in the growth, and heads towards the horizon; something is shimmering, almost like water, and its entrapping him with its waves and presence. So he doesn't think, not as if his thoughts are real _anyways_, and slowly makes his way over. His footfalls are silent as he glides and after a few moments, he picks up his pace, eager to reach the edge and see what it holds for him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you believe in heaven? <em>

"…_I don't know, beansprout."_

"_Really? I always thought your beliefs were concrete."_

"…"

"_What do you see when you think of heaven?"_

"…_White."_

"_Oh? I see lots of colors. Bright colors. Except for red—there is no red. And it'll look like a summer day."_

"…_You're strange, beansprout."_

"_And it'll smell like summer, too."_

"_How do you know what summer smells like?"_

"_I just do. And you know what the best part will be, Kanda?"_

"…_What?"_

"_It won't really be heaven. It'll just _be."

* * *

><p>The memory hits him like a jagged stone and he grabs his chest, pausing in his walking to gather his wits; there is no beating organ in the cavity yet he can feel some sort of…of <em>pain<em>, of longing and desperation and a need to see those dark eyes once again. It's a powerful blow to his not-being and he stumbles, falling backwards to lay in the grass with one hand over the area where his heart should be and the other fisted in the green stems, feeling alien and rejected within his own body. The swaying breeze doesn't falter and it caresses his cheek, nearly comforting as it whispers _one day, one day, one day_ over and over again like a broken mantra.

He lays for a few moments, the ache receding, and the startling realization that he's alone in the not-so-real world tumbles over his senses, vague and distant and—

"Oh. Alright. What now?"

So he stands up, muscles flowing effortlessly, and continues his trek to the faraway shimmer; it's the only thread of reality he can grip and while it's meager and probably a trick of his mind—_this whole place is one giant trick, isn't it, I can't remember where I was or what…what happened and why is this happening_—he continues anyways.

He keeps walking.

And walking turns into running until he reaches the boundary line and it's a cliff, sharp rocks and fresh grass surrounding everything in a hazy cocoon of green and gray and _blue_.

Because there's a waterfall.

And it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

_Fingers are trailing from his hip to his temple, a steady trace that sends shivers up his spine and it feels wonderful and right and this was what he was waiting for, what he has needed for so long, and hair is spilling over his hands but he doesn't mind because he likes getting his own fingers tangled in the soft strands that are all Kanda—_

He sinks to his knees, closes his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest. He's cold, so cold, and the name runs through his mind with the transparent touches and non-existent hair. It feels so _real_, like the scene is on the tip of nose and he just has to look down to be thrust back into the real world with _that_ person.

He's suffocating.

He's dying.

_I want to see him again._

He doesn't think when he does it; he just _does_. He stands up, takes a breath and leans over the edge of the cliff with the grass tickling his feet and the sun shining on his skin and his eyes seeing nothing but dark hair and darker eyes, feeling nothing but soft touches with rough hands and he _jumps_.

The wind whistles but is silent.

The water, so warm, embraces him and crashes like a protective blanket, surrounding him with nothing but familiar memories floating through purified liquid. It's perfect and though he doesn't know the hold of a mother he thinks it must feel an awful lot like this. So he smiles, a real smile, and allows himself to be dragged down into the clear depths.

The water continues to fall.

And then the not-real world goes black.

_I want to see Kanda again—_


	9. Lies

theme/day: lies, day 9.

pairing: established Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda.

rating: t for language.

warnings: language.

a/n: There is fluff in here! I personally like this one. I don't like seeing Allen portrayed as innocent all the time so I had a bit of fun with this theme.

Leave a review on your way out! :)

* * *

><p>lies<p>

* * *

><p>He knows what it's like to lie.<p>

He lives one every day when he walks through the many corridors of headquarters; when he smiles to Lenalee and Lavi and promises them that he just didn't get much sleep, too busy training; he lies when he tells Jerry that the food is delicious but he's not that hungry, so he only orders half of what he used to because in reality, he can't eat. He lies when he tells Kanda that the assignment was a bit more than he bargained for and that's why his stomach is badly injured and his head feels like Lavi decided to play whack-a-sprout.

He lies.

He thinks, anyways.

There are times when he believes he lies only to find that the truth slips out instead. No one notices the difference—or they choose not to. It's a tangled web of confusion that he's weaved for himself yet he can't escape it; everything is blurred, a thin line that separates what is real and what is not. He doesn't lie to harm anyone yet even in his days with Cross he learned the art of burying the truth.

It scares him sometimes.

But what worries him more is that he doesn't entirely mind.

* * *

><p>He knows he can't lie to Kanda.<p>

Because it's _always_ Kanda who catches him.

Always.

"Idiot, what happened?"

"Level three, didn't block in time."

_I was too distracted._

Allen compulsively places a hand over the bandage on his human arm, wincing when it throbs with sharp pains. Kanda scowls, flicking the boy on the back of the head. It's easy to see through the flimsy mask he constructs, if only because he's learned to read what Allen does and says; it's a strange feeling, being able to understand someone so simply, yet it's not entirely unwelcome—just annoying. Allen grumbles in response to the abuse but doesn't say anything, instead leaning back against the pillow in the infirmary and staring at the ceiling.

Kanda knows that look.

And he doesn't like it.

"Stop thinking."

"You tell me to do that at least once a week," Allen responds, glancing over and smiling. It doesn't reach his eyes and it looks strained, something Kanda sees far too much. "But I'm not you."

Kanda's glare intensifies and he goes to leave, already frustrated at the attitude of the sprout and hating the tiny flicker of worry that pulses through his veins.

"Hey, wait," Allen mutters, grabbing hold of the other man's sleeve. He pauses long enough to hear the boy out but no longer, his patience thin and his body tired. "Don't go yet."

"Che, let go, idiot."

But Allen doesn't; he tugs harder.

"Stay for a bit."

"Why?"

"Because it's boring in here and I can't leave until tomorrow."

_Because I want you here, idiot._

Kanda has learned to read Allen's lies.

* * *

><p>Sometimes the lies are necessary.<p>

When Allen grabs his head in obvious pain, Kanda can see the unsteady shine of gold that's gone in a blink; he can feel the distressed aura he's only felt when near a Noah. And when Allen's breathing evens out and he glances back up to smile shakily, forehead glistening with sweat and nightshirt tangled around his frame, Kanda can only frown and pull the boy closer in the too-small bed, wondering if maybe he's the one who's gone crazy to ever allow such a thing.

_What _thing_? The sprout in your bed or the sprout turning into a fucking Noah?_

He tightens his hold imperceptibly and Allen curls in closer, shaking and sweating and dry sobbing as the pain recedes. It's nights like these that Allen _needs_ to lie, needs to convince himself that he's not going insane and succumbing to the darkness that surrounds him every day.

"Nightmares," he says, shifting his head to look up and smile at Kanda. "Just another nightmare."

"Bullshit."

"Don't," Allen whispers, so helplessly and brokenly that Kanda's frown eases and he runs a hand through damp hair. "Please don't."

"Che, just go back to sleep."

Allen doesn't have any more 'nightmares' that night.

* * *

><p>Sometimes the lies are ridiculously stupid and have no merit.<p>

It's when he's exhausted and everyone asks him if he's doing alright; when the questions become too heavy and his eyes can barely stay open. He'll glance to Kanda but the latter won't do anything because it's not his problem. So Allen smiles, rubs the back of his neck, and breathes _I'm fine._

It's overused and it's not convincing in the slightest.

"Allen, you're not _fine,_ you're working yourself to death—"

"Geez, even Yu gets some sleep every once in a while—"

"Allen, maybe you should take a break…"

A heartbeat, then—

"I'm fine."

Kanda scoffs.

* * *

><p>It's not the idea of lying itself but rather: <em>why<em>.

Allen's a liar because it's a masquerade and he's a puppet; he walks a path that's already been walked while struggling to forge his own. He's felt pain and he hides himself to shoulder the burden of being a savior, to protect others from the harsh, bitter reality he _knows_ they'll suffer anyways. He's mastered deception and he's tweaked the art of covering up, has been doing it for as long as he can remember after the time with Mana and the life with Cross.

And now he's afraid of who he's becoming and that frightens him more than the lies.

And Kanda can see through it all.

Allen knows Kanda is a liar as well. Cold and harsh and rough and unfeeling yet offering a warmth that matches no other; Allen can't express how much he's come to rely on the rocky persona that is the samurai, how much the man keeps him grounded to a reality he isn't sure of. It's a bizarre and extraordinary wall they've built around themselves, sheltering others from the truth as the two of them embrace every single thread of actuality.

When they're together, the walls come down.

When they're no longer alone, the walls are reconstructed.

Sometimes Allen wonders if maybe he's already lost his mind.


	10. Rebirth

theme/day: rebirth (optional), day 10.

pairing: pre!Allen/Kanda, pre!Kanda/Allen.

rating: t for language.

warnings: au, bad puns, semi-parental!Cross. :D

a/n: The final installment to the four-part optional series! This focuses more on the fact that they've been reborn into a modern time and of course, don't recognize each other completely, only more of a feeling. Probably overused but I like it. Anyways, enjoy!

And drop some feedback when you're done?

* * *

><p>rebirth, 44

* * *

><p>"This weather is ridiculous."<p>

"Yeah, but what do you expect? It's the middle of January."

"I don't _care,_ it's too cold."

Allen sighed as he buttoned up his jacket, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck in a feeble attempt to warm up his body. He wasn't normally against the bitter chill but his throat was sore and his nose wouldn't cease in its attempt to rid him of all—

Well, he had a runny nose.

And it was _annoying._

"Allen, why didn't you just stay home? You're sick. Even Cross didn't want to let you out."

At the mention of his guardian, the meager headache that had been pounding at the base of his skull increased tenfold; he winced, a hand flying up to attempt to numb the pain, all the while ignoring the connection between Cross and his head troubles. The redhead beside him laughed, throwing an arm around the boy's thin shoulders while craning his neck to see if the bus was anywhere in sight.

"_You're_ the one who made me go out," Allen muttered, stretching and leaning in to the older male's side. Lavi smiled down at his best friend and cursed the bus stop shelter for being icy and covered in old and fresh snow. "'Sides, I know Lena wanted me to go tonight, too."

"She would've understood."

"Maybe…" Allen yawned, straightening back up when the scraping of large tires sounded down the street. Sure enough, the city bus that would take them to the downtown mall raced down the slippery road, coming to a stop only seconds later. As they clambered in and paid the fee, Allen's eyes caught sight of someone at the back of the large vehicle, dark eyes and darker hair and—

"C'mon, let's grab a seat."

Lavi chose to pick the seat directly in front of the man and Allen shrunk in on himself, taking the cushioned seat by the window and staring out through the frosted glass. Apparently Lavi knew the man as they began chatting—or rather, Lavi was chatting and the latter seemed to debate on whether or not to stab him. Still, an unfamiliar coldness seeped through his veins, an almost longing ache permeating his heart; there was something about the man and his stiff demeanor that was alluring to Allen, comforting in a strange way, and while he had no idea who the man was, what the man did, if the man even _lived_ here, Allen was determined to find out.

He contented with that thought and continued to stare out the window, long after the other man had gotten off the bus.

* * *

><p>"That was Yu."<p>

"What was me?"

"No no, that was _Yu._"

"…What?"

Lavi chuckled, linking his arm through Allen's and walking into the bright warmth of the city mall; Allen could already feel the day's wet and cold weather drying up from the wonderful heat the building produced and he smiled, removing his hat with his free hand and shoving it in his messenger bag.

"His name. Yu Kanda. Japanese, 18, goes to Central Academy like the rest of us."

"Oh," Allen replied, his stomach doing a little flip at the information. "How come we never see him around?"

"Oh, Lena and I do. He's been a longtime friend but he's extremely anti-social. Only really hangs around Alma."

"Alma?" Allen frowned, trying to recall the name. "Oh! Isn't he the one who always disrupts the science experiments?"

Lavi laughed, unlinking his arm as they reached the table in the food court. Lenalee was nowhere in sight but the younger boy knew that she wouldn't be long; she was probably already around somewhere but had decided to stop in one of the many shops.

"That's the one. Well, Yu would deny it. He says Alma follows _him_, but they've been close since forever."

Allen nodded, unsure of how to respond; he was saved from doing so when a recognizable head of black hair in pigtails arrived. She gave him a quick hug before placing her hands on her hips and wagging her finger in a manner reminiscent of Fou.

"Allen! You look horrible, why aren't you in bed?"

Lavi's laughter increased—until she turned to him.

"And you, Lavi, why did you drag him out? It's cold! And he's already sick."

"Uh…"

"Exactly. Well," Lenalee started, taking a seat at the table. "Since we're all here, what are the plans?"

* * *

><p>Fate apparently clung to him like lint to a sock.<p>

The line for the movies was relatively short and it wasn't long until all three had their tickets; however, as soon as Allen turned around, he found himself face-to-chest with someone far too familiar to be comfortable. He stuttered incoherently until the person pushed him back, eyebrow raised and a scowl on his pretty face.

"Che, watch what you're doing, beansprout."

_Beansprout—_

"I'm not a sprout!" Allen cried indignantly, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. The other male scoffed, walking around to order his own ticket, but Allen wasn't going to let him get away just yet. "Hey! It's not like I meant to bump into you!"

"I don't care."

Allen frowned, crossing his arms and trying to stifle the urge to sneeze; last thing he needed was to be condemned for spreading his germs or…or _something._

"You don't need to be so rude," he said instead, trying to hold himself a little higher to seem somewhat more poised—as poised as he could be while ill, anyways.

"Whatever," Kanda muttered, turning around with his own ticket and prepared to leave; something caught his eye at the last second and he paused, staring at Allen as if it was the first time he was really seeing him. The latter fidgeted underneath his stare but said nothing, waiting for the elder to do or say something. And then—

"Your hair is white."

Allen groaned.

"Thank you, captain obvious, I thought it was pink."

"That'd be fucking _weird_."

And with that, he left.

Allen sighed.

* * *

><p>Kanda didn't get far.<p>

Allen nearly laughed at the older boy's expression as he was dragged along into the theater with the three of them, having been invited a week ago but avoiding actually _going_ with them. It was odd, Allen thought, and the knowing smile Lenalee and Lavi shared unnerved him a great deal. He smiled regardless and walked into the darkened room, taking a seat at the back beside Lenalee with Kanda beside Lavi, waiting patiently for the film to start while the redhead and his "self-declared" best friend argued.

"Allen, you okay?"

Said boy nodded weakly, feeling out-of-sorts and not entirely well. He didn't want to spoil the outing and so he offered up a small smile, Lenalee patting his hand all the while; Lavi seemed to notice this and turned a questioning glance their way but Allen shrugged it off.

"I'm fine," he whispered, the lights dimming and the screen coming to life. He noticed Kanda staring a little while longer, brows furrowed and mouth set in a deep frown, but he ignored it and focused on the movie.

He found he couldn't think much past that look.

* * *

><p>It had happened in a blur; the movie ended, Allen not paying much attention at all, and they were the last to leave the theatre; as soon as he stood up, the world spun dangerously fast and the next thing he knew he was heading towards the ground.<p>

At least, he _thought_ he was.

"Are you always this annoying?"

Allen didn't respond, waiting for the face to come into clarity, only to find himself staring into dark eyes that had some hint of worry in them, if only a _small_ hint. Allen attempted a smile and tried to get up but his stomach jumped and his head felt as if Cross decided to follow through with his threat on punishment-by-hammer.

"Allen, just hold on," he heard Lenalee say and suddenly there were three faces swimming in and out of his vision. Someone was holding him up and he was shocked to see it was Kanda, reminding Allen of a sturdy rock.

And then he blinked, because he just compared Kanda to a _rock_.

"M'fine…" he muttered, trying to push Kanda away but failing horribly. "Just…m'just a bit dizzy…"

"Bullshit," Kanda replied, hoisting the boy up and waiting for Lavi to take over. The latter seemed to debate before smiling and giving Kanda a thumbs up; suddenly the murderous intent was back and Lavi's grin nearly faltered.

"You damn rabbit, come take him already!"

"Nah, you've got a good hold on him. We should probably get him home, though. Did you drive here?"

"You _idiot_, of course I drove here!"

"Well you were on the bus," Lavi pointed out, a finger tapping his chin. "So I wasn't sure."

"I was coming back from Alma's, stupid rabbit."

"Oh. Right. So you get the responsibility of driving Allen home!"

Kanda's eye twitched and Lenalee stepped in before it could become a full out brawl with Allen trapped helplessly in the middle.

"Kanda, please? Komui is picking me up and Lavi has to head to the bookstore. You live closest to him."

"I don't know where the fuck he lives—"

"A street over from you, actually," Lavi chimed in, his eye glinting with amusement. He dug through Allen's bag, the protest only half-mumbled, before grabbing hold of a piece of paper and pen. He quickly scribbled down the address and placed it in the Japanese teen's hand. "There. See? It's on your way home. Just make sure he gets there safely, alright? And steer clear of Cross, he might kill you."

And with that, Lavi and Lenalee disappeared, smiling all the while and knowing they had Kanda trapped.

Oh, he was going to _murder_ them.

* * *

><p>Getting the kid into his car wasn't as difficult as he had expected it to be.<p>

He weighed less than the average person, nearly unhealthily so, and Kanda assumed that beneath the multiple layers he could count the kid's ribs one by one. He didn't particularly care at the moment, however, and instead switched the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. He wasn't in a good mood and Lavi was going to pay dearly for forcing this on him; he could have easily left the beansprout to suffer in the theatre but there was something about him that had Kanda's head reeling.

It was like a natural reaction when he saw the boy fall, automatically reaching out to stop him from crashing to the ground. It was déjà vu, standing there with the three of them, as if there had been a time when something like this had happened, a vague memory on the tips of his fingers and out of reach. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, just strange, as if it was a normal night with a minor inconvenience.

There was something about the white haired boy with the scar over his eye.

And Kanda found himself fascinated by him.

_What the fuck is this?_

* * *

><p>His body hurt.<p>

_Everywhere._

Groaning, Allen slowly maneuvered his way out of the heavy comforter, the warmth overbearing as he tried to sort out his surroundings; he was in his own room, somewhat comfortable, and feeling as if he was dropped in a vat of tar. His limbs were heavy, his eyes couldn't focus, and he could barely remember the night before—except strong arms carrying him, which caused his face to redden in both embarrassment and…something else.

"Oh, you're awake. Next time you're sick try not to go out and make it worse, idiot. Had to deal with your coughing all night…"

Allen frowned as Cross placed a hand on his forehead, the latter sighing and setting a glass of water on the nightstand.

"You're lucky Tiedoll's kid drove you home. Heard you passed out at the theatres."

"You know Kanda?" Allen choked out, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. Cross rolled his eyes at the boy, arms crossed and expression stern. Allen noticed that he was in fact sober, explaining the more humane side to his guardian.

"I know _of_ the brat. Tiedoll's been a nuisance for a while and I've been introduced to the kids he's adopted."

In other words, Allen translated, Tiedoll was a family friend that he was unaware of.

Hm.

"Oh," he replied intelligently, not sure if he should be worried at the almost parental way Cross was treating him; it was rare indeed and Allen was contemplating the entire thing being some sort of hallucination.

"Get some more sleep, you're grounded."

"Grounded?"

"Yes, grounded, because that seems to be the only way to get your ass inside. This isn't the first time you've done this, idiot."

Allen smiled a little at that, resting back against his pillow as Cross headed for the door. He was nearly asleep until the redhead turned around, glasses perched on the edge of his nose and a mysterious shine in his eyes.

"By the way, I didn't know you and the brat were so close. He seemed pretty worried about you last night. Think he might even drop by later."

That being said, Cross shut the door and Allen's face heated up, thinking of many ways to maim every single one of his so called "friends".

Still…

He ended up falling asleep with a smile on his lips.


	11. Pride

theme/day: pride/honor, day 11.

pairing: Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda.

rating: t+

warnings: implied, not-really-graphic sex, very short.

a/n: This one is more of a drabble; it's the shortest by far but I like how it turned out. It was a pain to write considering the length. Also, the random italicized words in the middle are lyrics from Map of the Problematique by Muse. Enjoy, and leave a review on your way out! :)

* * *

><p>pridehonor

* * *

><p>Pride and honor.<p>

It's the easiest way for Allen to define Kanda; the man is a sinner, a fighter. His skills in battle outweigh many and he's proud of that, his pride showing through the way his muscles glide effortlessly when he handles Mugen, the way he _knows_ he's able to protect others and how he sometimes chooses not to.

But he's honorable because he doesn't coddle, he teaches; when he doesn't protect, he shows that being helpless means being a waste of space, that standing up and protecting yourself means being able to protect those around you. It's an unorthodox method that Allen doesn't always agree with but sometimes admires because there are few like him.

But when they're together, locked in an embrace of tangled not-love, Kanda is stripped of all that so they're both raw, both human as they move together and become knotted and meshed into a snare of sin, a maze of sorts with Kanda's pride and honor and Allen's love and righteousness the prize at the end of the twisted tunnels. It's a way to escape the pain, the burdens and the sorrow that weigh them down during the bloodshed and the aftermath of the slaughter; it's when they're equal in every way, shape, form—where nothing is everything and everything is nothing.

Fingers dust over pale skin, mouths nip at delicate flesh.

There's pain and pleasure and contradictions in everything they do, every spot that is touched with softly calloused hands.

Allen thinks Kanda is prideful because it's all he really knows.

And he loves every bit of it.

_when we bleed we bleed the same_

The morning after is cleaning up and heading out for the next assignment, masks back in place and pride becoming Kanda; it's a weird and wonderful process to watch yet he's seen it so many times, has memorized every fault in the method.

They say he wears too many disguises, hides behind too many fake smiles and faker lies.

He thinks it's ironic that it's Kanda who's the same.


	12. Doors and Keys

theme/day: doors and keys (optional), day 12.

pairing: light Allen/Kanda, Kanda/Allen.

rating: t+

warnings: none, really.

a/n: I have no idea where this one came from. It was inspired by the most recent chapter of DGM and I guess you could say it takes place right after that. But not really. Only kind of. Anyways, enjoy the weirdness that is day 12's theme! Don't forget to leave a review. :)

* * *

><p>doors &amp; keys<p>

* * *

><p>The circus is alight with laughter and jovial reunions, but all he can focus on is getting out.<p>

The door is locked, there is no key. There's five exits and no way to leave; Allen swears beneath his breath in a rare fit of frustration at being trapped by the level four, the Sword of Exorcism resting on his shoulder as he tries to think of a way out. He's tried using his Innocence but it's proved futile; there's sweat beading on his forehead, causing whatever is left over of his make-up that Kanda didn't scrape off to smudge, and he doesn't even _want_ to imagine the state of his costume. All the plans to escape, to stay in hiding, smashed to pieces because of the aura of the Noah.

The demons are toying with him.

He knows Kanda and Johnny are around somewhere but he lost them some hours back; if there was ever a time he wanted to see that scowling face because he needed _rescuing_, it's now.

The thought makes him frown.

The room is too warm and constricting so he pulls off the outer layer of the costume, leaving him in a black top and pants with sock feet because _damn it_, the shoes are too big to actually fight in. There's laughter outside and he recognizes the akuma but there's little he can do while he's ensnared. He used to love circuses while with Mana, used to love guessing doors and staring at funny mirrors, all the while performing.

But now…

He's beginning to _hate_ anything to do with these blasted places.

He knows Neah is slowly leaking into him, the urge to escape growing each second that passes. He takes a step back only to find something prodding his foot.

A key.

"Where were you five minutes ago?" he murmurs, deactivating his Innocence and picking up the key, trying each door. By the time he gets to the fourth one his patience is thin; it swings open and he breathes a sigh of relief. He expects to see the cloudy skies promising rain but is instead greeted with the exact same room he was just in; he groans before attempting to unlock each exit once again. It's the last door that unlocks and he braces himself for either the same structure or an attack—

He's met with neither.

"Kanda?"

The man is scowling as he grabs at Allen's shirt, dragging him outside and behind one of the tents. The relief that he's out of the strange place is short-lived though, for Kanda is angry and Allen can barely breathe through the hold on the neck of his shirt.

"Let _go_," he mutters, his vision swimming. Kanda loosens his grip and pins Allen against a pole. In all honesty, he isn't sure how Kanda can keep a straight face while doing this, but he doesn't question it and lets his limbs relax so Kanda will too.

"Are you done running?"

"Yes," Allen answers automatically, knowing Kanda doesn't buy it but also knowing the man is only putting on a show. It isn't long before the level four finds them, laughing and cackling all the while, and Allen takes the moment of distraction to activate his Innocence and surge forward. Kanda isn't far behind and they team up against the demon, desperate to end it quickly to keep the occupants of the circus ground away.

"Allen!"

Said boy curses as the demon swivels to attack Johnny but Allen takes the blow, feeling a burn in his chest. He grimaces in pain while Kanda attacks from behind, the level four eradicated and his chest on fire and _burning_—

"Move."

A shaking Johnny does and suddenly there are hands on his chest, pushing him back, prodding and ripping off the material that covers it. He groans when fingers brush up against the wound, feeling lightheaded and knowing that his plans have all been ruined.

_Hey Link, where are you now? You can't really be dead._

Thoughts swim in and out of his mind, distracting him from the pain but only slightly. Kanda places something in his mouth, something _hard_ and it's Mugen and _why is Mugen in my mouth?_

He understands when suddenly there's nothing but absolute agony from the wound, pulsing through his body and he's biting down, he's biting _Mugen_, and Kanda is saying something to Johnny but he can't hear because he's dying.

"You're going to be fine, overdramatic beansprout."

Allen's breathing is heavy when Mugen is removed and he can almost see, his vision blurry and something tight around his chest.

"But it looks like you won't be on the run for a while."

Allen frowns, wondering why he feels as if a very important key had just been stolen from him.

* * *

><p>It's dark when his eyes open, immediately realizing it's night and he's in a hotel room.<p>

He doesn't think, he just _does_; he grabs Kanda's coat, throws it around his frame, and ignores the waves of pain that run through his body. He knows what he's doing is probably the stupidest thing he _can _do, but he cannot take the chance on going back to the Order, not when he's labeled a traitor and a heretic and he could _kill anyone at anytime._

He exits the room, closing the door and locking it with the key he had swiped off the counter. When he turns around, he finds himself facing the man he's running from.

"Beansprout, even you aren't that stupid."

"I can't stay."

"I never said I wanted you to stay," Kanda mutters, pushing the boy against the wall and frowning at him. He looks as if he needs to say something but can't piece the words together, something Allen has never seen on the stoic exorcist. Once again, he doesn't think, he just does:

He kisses the man's cheek.

Kanda is too stunned to actually make a move; Allen takes the opportunity to slip out, wrapping the coat tight around his frame, unknown tears springing to his eyes as he leaves behind what he knows he can't have.

It's a sad thought.

He's able to escape the building without notice, running down twisted streets until his legs burn and his lungs ache, and he hides in an alley, covering himself up to hide his form and knowing that even if Kanda came looking, he wouldn't able to spot Allen. It's comforting and horrible to know but he waits a few minutes anyways.

There are no footsteps.

He's not being followed.

_Yet._

He makes his way east, lips tingling and jacket clenched tightly around him, closing one more door in his out-of-control life.


	13. Touch

theme/day: touch, day 13.

pairing: Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda.

rating: t.

warnings: none.

a/n: Here's something that's actually fluffy! With angst, of course. Despite how short this one is I love it to pieces. Only one more theme to go! Enjoy, and leave a review? :D

* * *

><p>touch<p>

* * *

><p>It's those dreams that really affect him; the ones that haunt his sleep-deprived mind late at night, a dark delusion that coils around his very core, sucking out his soul and casting him into eternal isolation. It's those dreams where he's on a beach somewhere warm, toes buried in the sand and sea spray misting over his skin, the sun setting and the moon never rising as he's dragged into the water and below the freezing, vast ocean. It's those dreams where everyone dies and he lives, when there's blood on his hands and blood on the floor, where he's surrounded by his ethereal reflection and the ghost-truth that he's not himself.<p>

It's those dreams where he isn't sure how to wake up.

And then it's those aftershocks where he opens his eyes to dark ones staring back, hardened with annoyance and shrouded with worry. It's the legs that are entwined with his own and the fingers that dust over his sweaty forehead; the arm that's resting around his neck to bring him closer, the hand that slowly roams from his brow to his hip, so soft and calloused. It's the aftershocks that leave his body shaking furiously, the impossibly large eyes that search for normalcy even as the affection of the man beside him runs through his veins.

It's the aftershocks that are calmed by hushed whispers of _shh, you're fine, idiot_ as he finds himself laying in a bed that is not his own.

It seems as if it's touch that brings him back to reality. He's lost in the world of illusion when he first wakes up, thinks he's still being destroyed slowly through various means, but then he feels flesh upon flesh and is reminded he's no longer in a dream-like world. It's an unrivaled feeling of relief that is brought on through the man who lays beside him, giving a reassurance he's unaware of.

The fingers that trail through his hair, the mouth that reaches his own, it reminds him that they're real, that he hasn't succumbed to the never-breaking darkness just yet.

And then he touches back, his own digits getting tangled in dark strands, pulling closer and seeking the warmth that he's been denied for so long. He buries his face into the crook of a defined neck, his legs clench tighter around the ones knotted with his own, his hair tickles the man's nose. One hand goes to rest on the elder's chest, fingers splaying out over the tattoo as he moves impossibly tighter against the body; and then there are hands on his own back, drawing circles and eights, wandering over the blades of his shoulders and the mark of his Innocence.

From time to time it leads to more and they get lost in a milky haze.

Most often, they remain awake, feeling each other's skin and memorizing each scar, engraving each touch without words. Sometimes, when he doesn't wake up right away, the man beside him writes words into his skin with a dull nail, calming and coarse all at once.

They don't discuss it in the morning.

_I love you—_


	14. Last Stand

theme/day: last stand (optional), day 14.

pairing: Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda.

rating: t.

warnings: some character death though nothing _too_ major.

a/n: The final installment into _break me down_! It's been a fantastic ride, guys, and I thank all of you who responded to this story. Yullen Week was a blast this year and the entries were wonderful! I hope to see all of you throughout next year! I tried to make this one somewhat fluffy so I hope the last part is enough for all of you. :D You guys are great and your encouragement was undeniably warm. :)

So here's to a brand new year! I hope everyone has an amazing 2012 and I wish you the best! Remember to be safe. :D

May Yullen be with you! :)

* * *

><p>last stand<p>

* * *

><p>They're prepared for this.<p>

The final battle, the blows exchanged, the blood and the death and the scent of power all around them. The Earl is laughing but most of his family is gone; the Order is fighting back but they don't have Allen on their side because he's on his _own_. The fighting has been going on for days yet they have not given up and it's down to Allen and the Earl.

They're prepared for this.

Metal against metal clang in the air as they begin their final dance and the others focus on eradicating the demons and cheering on Allen. Allen, who is not Neah, who has battled his own demons and come to turns with who _he_ is, not who he's defined to be.

Kanda watches, follows the movement of the seventeen year old, the one who had grown from being a righteous beansprout to a savior, a man, someone Kanda didn't think he'd ever become. It's a comforting thought to know that throughout all this, there's still someone who's sure, someone who understands what's happening and what they stand to lose.

Sword upon sword and blood everywhere; no one knows where to look or where to end so Kanda scowls, taking care of a level two, before shouting at them to find the injured. Because this is not their battle, it's his, and Kanda thinks he's doing just fine on his own.

Another rogue shot, a retaliation, and the Earl is stumbling backwards and falling to the ground and Allen is over him in seconds.

"This if for all the pain you've caused upon the world, upon my friends and _family_."

The blade comes down.

It doesn't look right to Kanda so he glances away, searching for any more demons or Noah but they've all been eradicated.

Along with half the Order, as well.

When the Earl makes no more sounds, Kanda walks over to Allen and places a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what else to do. The younger male turns around, smiling at Kanda, eyes shining with unshed tears. It causes Kanda's heart to skip a beat because while he's still Allen, something has shifted, something darker that can only be brought on through murder—

No.

"It's not murder," Kanda mutters, eyes momentarily looking to the sky. "You're the Destroyer of Time, remember? This was your duty."

"Yeah well, my duty is done."

The Earl is no more.

Kanda can't quite remember the entire battle once Allen collapses into his arms.

ii.

They're sitting on a bench in the park, cherry blossom leaves fluttering in the breeze.

It's a serene feeling; the sun is peeking out behind spring clouds, the ground is blossoming with life, and there is no threat of being thrust into a battle. Allen smiles up at his companion, a new scar on his opposite cheek and his arm in a sling; Kanda doesn't want to imagine the boy's mangled chest so he doesn't.

"They've…found everyone," Allen murmurs, interlocking his fingers with Kanda's. The latter reacts by lightly squeezing, a sense of calmness settling over his nerves. "Lenalee and Lavi are helping out with relocations while Komui and Reever mark down all the deceased."

Kanda nods. Allen smiles.

"We did it. We're all free now. Isn't that what we wanted?"

"Hn."

"Where are we all going to go now, though?"

Kanda sighs, leaning back against the wood and staring at one of the blossoms that land in his outstretched hand.

"Lenalee and Komui are probably going to go back to China," he begins. "The rabbit—Lavi will disappear with Bookman."

"And you?"

Kanda is silent and Allen stands up, pulling the elder along with him.

"What are you doing, beansprout?"

"Let's go. I don't care where. Let's just go."

Kanda stares at him blankly for a few moments, the pink leaves dancing around, assessing and wondering and—

"Yeah. Alright."

He doesn't really care where he's lead to, he finds. Allen understands this, and maybe that's why…

Maybe that's why he's suddenly content.


End file.
